


You Taught Me The Courage of Stars Before You Left

by nanosorcerer



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comforting Stephen Strange, Dad Peter Parker, Doctor Dad, Everyone Needs A Hug, Future Fic, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Iron Dad, Not Canon Compliant, Peaceful/Comforting End, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter dealing with Tony's death, Peter is an adult now, Peter is falling apart with grief, Pining Stephen Strange, Stephen Strange Needs a Hug, Tony has a long life, almost 40 years after Endgame, and his family is worried about him, major character death mention, spider son, very subtle Ironstrange if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-19 14:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22646371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nanosorcerer/pseuds/nanosorcerer
Summary: In an alternate universe, where Stephen saves Tony after his Snap, Tony is able to enjoy a long, happy life with his family. Now, it's the year 2059 and Peter is struggling to deal with his dad's recent death. His family is worried about him, but there's nothing they can do to comfort him. In the end, star-gazing with an old sorcerer might bring him some peace, and Peter can begin to heal as he cherishes the memories of the best man he ever knew.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Harley Keener, Peter Parker & Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe), Peter Parker & Stephen Strange, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 67





	You Taught Me The Courage of Stars Before You Left

**Author's Note:**

> The opening scene for this fic popped into my head after reading a lot of Tony angst. I felt like it would be a fitting way to show what should have happened if there was ever going to be a funeral scene for Tony Stark. Don't show me Peter, a trembling kid who's seen too much shit, but hasn't really lived enough, already grieving his third father figure. Fuck that noise. So, instead, I give you Peter at 53, the same age Tony was when he saved the universe. His dad has had a long, happy life and it will be much easier to eventually come to peace with his death, though of course it will hurt like a motherfucker at first. And that's what this fic is about.
> 
> Don't hate me too much and I hope you enjoy. Leave a comment if I made you tear up!

Today was Tony Stark’s funeral.

His youngest son stood on the shore of the lake where he had spent the better half of his life and watched the arc reactor drift out onto the lake until it was out of sight. He’d shed enough tears today, so simply smiled at the sunset and the breeze ruffling his hair, like a familiar, gentle hand playing with curls that weren’t quite as thick as they once were. 

Peter Parker was 53 now, the same age Tony had been when he had saved the world. Today would have been much more difficult if it had happened at the wrong time, say…36 years ago, just when Tony had the chance to be truly happy, his entire family safe and alive. 

Peter, senses as sharp as ever, turned when he felt a familiar presence approaching. That same old, red cloak swished in the wind as the tall figure approached.

“Hey, Doc.”

“Peter.”

Stephen was still around, of course. Being Sorcerer Supreme meant sticking around for even longer than one might prefer. Long enough that you had to watch all your closest friends’ time come when you still had centuries left in you. Peter looked up at the man - always looking up, he had never quite caught up with him height-wise - and shared a tired smile with him. The sorcerer hadn’t changed much over the years, hair a little more silver, face a little more lined, but still as gentle and perceptive as ever. 

“You’re thinking about when you met”, Stephen said, more of a statement than a question. Peter nodded quietly, turning his face up to the sky, content to let the breeze play with his hair. 

_He’s here._

“The day I walked into that apartment in Queens, and saw him eating May’s walnut date loaf…I never knew how much he would end up meaning to me.”

“Fate works in funny ways”, Stephen rumbled, looking out over the lake, with a look akin to contentment. “By all accounts, he and I never should have met.” Peter looked up to see that the sorcerer’s eyes had gone glossy, his voice divulging into a whisper. “But thank the Vishanti we did.”

“Not sure how much any of them had to do with it”, Peter teased, but his voice and eyes were soft. “But I can’t imagine our family without you, Doc.” Something in the sorcerer’s galaxy-colored eyes warmed, his hand dropping to Peter’s head in a way that made the younger man’s heart ache. 

“You’re getting soft in your old age, spiderling.”

“You’re one to talk”, Peter returned with a smile, turning as he heard footsteps approaching in the grass again. A young woman with dark hair and an oversized cardigan wrapped around her black funeral dress came stalking across the lawn, falling against Peter’s chest automatically when he opened his arms. Peter cupped the back of her head, running his hand down her dark curls soothingly.

“Hey, Mayday. How you doing?”

“Mom wants you and Doc to come in. Come eat something”, his daughter muttered into his chest, ignoring his question as she hugged him. May had been extremely close with Tony ever since she was a baby, a complete grandpa’s girl who'd had the old engineer wrapped around her little finger since day one. The past week had been hard for everyone, but especially so for Peter’s eldest.

“Alright. Let’s go inside then. Doc?” The old sorcerer, lost in his memories as he looked out over the lake, jumped a little as he turned to join them. He looked down with a small smile when May pulled on his sleeve to get his attention. 

“Can I have Levi?”, she asked, her voice small and raspy from crying. Stephen softened.

“Of course”, he rumbled, and the cloak dropped onto her shoulders like they had done a thousand times, letting the young woman pull the thick, red fabric tightly around herself, clinging to any form of comfort she could find on this day. She walked, sandwiched between two of her favourite people on the planet, but one person, someone who had always been there was missing and it felt wrong. Everything felt wrong.

They walked through the front door, Peter’s second home since he was seventeen, a place that he’d been spending weekends and summers at ever since. It was where he’d first brought MJhome to meet everyone in his extended family, delighted to see Tony pretending to give her a hard time and her giving it right back to him. It was where his kids had grown up, as comfortable at Grandpa’s lake cabin as they were in the city. Countless summer days and family gatherings had been spent here, hours of swimming and laughing and nights around the campfire telling stories and early mornings with coffee watching the sun rise. And now, it would still be a place for those things for years to come, even though Peter knew deep down that it would never feel the same without Tony.

Without Tony.

He almost fell to his knees in the threshold at the thought. It was a gentle hand on his back from Stephen that kept him upright, Michelle’s kind smile as he walked into the kitchen that kept him from bursting into tears. Wordlessly, he walked up to his wife and let himself be wrapped up in her arms, face buried in her hair. Tony had had a good, long life and Peter was grateful for every second he’d had with him, but that couldn’t keep him from missing his dad. 

“Eat something”, Michelle prompted, pulling back to look him in the eyes. “I know you, you haven’t eaten in days and you look like you’re about to collapse.” Peter knew she was right, nodding numbly, and helped himself to a plate of the macaroni and cheese she’d been making. Comfort food. It was just close family here, there was no need for fancy food. Piling on cheesy noodles, Peter didn’t miss the worried look Michelle and Stephen shared, and it didn’t make him feel any better. They knew better than anyone how much Tony meant to Peter. Well, almost better than anyone.

Peter brushed past them silently to the living room, settling onto the couch beside his aunt. At 90, she was still as sharp as ever, watching her namesake sulk in a chair across the room through the round-framed glasses she had never lost taste for. She gave Peter a soft smile, knowing and sympathetic as she watched him pick at his plate of food. 

“Have you eaten too?”, he asked her before he took a forkful, proud of how normal he forced his voice to sound. 

“I’m not the one you should be worried about”, May assured, setting a hand on his knee as Peter caught her eye. Her hair was still as long as ever, and a gorgeous silver to boot, a feat that Peter hoped his thinning curls may be able to copy in his later years. 

“Where _is_ Ben?”, he asked, realizing how starving he was as bringing the fork to his mouth became easier. 

“Workshop, I think”, she sighed, sympathy for her great-nephew showing through in her kind hazel eyes. “Poor boy couldn’t stand the silence up here anymore.” She had always been able to read Peter’s youngest like a book, much like she had done with Peter for most of his life. Now, she studied her nephew who was like a son, and her heart hurt, and a number ran through her head. 

Three.

He had lost three dads in his life. It was less than fair, to endure something so many times when most people only had to deal with it once. Peter might have been in his fifties, but she would never stop seeing him as the bright-eyed teen who filled her life with sunshine, even back in the bad days, in that apartment in Queens when it was just the two of them. 

“Harley must be with him, too”, Peter mused, scooping up the last of the pasta on his plate. “I haven’t seen him since the end of the service. I’ll go check on them.” He leaned forward to stand when May’s hand was on his arm.

“Maybe they aren’t the ones who need checking on right now”, she suggested gently.

“I’m fine, May”, he insisted, but his voice wavered and betrayed him. He paused on the edge of the sofa, still holding his empty plate as he regarded her. 

May Parker had always been the strongest person he had ever known. She’d lost her brother-in-law and his wife, and then taken in her six-year old nephew to raise as her own. Nine years later, she lost her husband too, but worked through her grief so she could always be there for Peter. Peter had lost all these people too, his parents and his uncle, but he couldn’t help but feel that May was so much stronger than him, always handled these things so much better. She was good at putting on a strong face, that was for sure. 

Eight years ago, when they had lost Happy to a sudden heart attack, Peter had thought she would be a wreck. But she ended up being the one consoling Peter as he sobbed in her arms, rubbing his back soothingly and making hushing noises as if he were a little kid again. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been heartbroken, Peter knew how much she’d had loved Happy, but she was much better at hiding her grief, or saving it for when she was alone. 

Two husbands. That’s all Peter could think about, that she had lost two husbands in her life and she was the one trying to comfort him. It made him feel sick. 

Then there was Pepper. She and May had gotten incredibly close in the years following the Battle for Earth, drawn together by the two men in their life who had gone to hell and back together. When Peter had gotten the news of Pepper’s passing, the initial shock was mixed in with horror. Was Tony gone too? Peter had always expected them to drift off together in their sleep, like some sickeningly perfect copy of “The Notebook.” But Tony had met him at the door of the cabin, and Peter had nearly flung himself into the older man’s arms, tears falling into grey hair now that Peter finally stood taller than him. Of course, Peter had heard countless stories of one half of an old couple only hanging on for a few weeks after their partner passed away, and the next few months were filled with a nightmare-like dread, fearing that Tony would follow after his wife for all the heartbreak he was in. 

It turned out that it was Rhodey who was Tony’s breaking point, because hadn’t he always been? Tony had outlived almost all of his closest friends and it was hard, beyond hard, but losing Rhodey was too much. Losing Rhodey meant uncontrollable sobbing that Tony didn’t have the energy for anymore. Losing Rhodey meant a grief that Tony said he could feel in his bones, crushing his heart, and eating him up from the inside. Peter had never known such horror as the feeling he felt when he looked into Tony’s eyes and heard him say those words. It was then that he knew their time left was limited. Peter had spent days at the cabin in those first few weeks afterwards, holding his dad like he had done for Peter countless times, rocking Tony and holding him while muttering comforting nonsense, running a hand over his soft, grey hair. 

Only three weeks after their service for Rhodey, he got the call from Stephen. 

Tony had known it was his time and had called his one remaining friend who would be able to get to him in time. In time to say goodbye. The sorcerer explained gently to Peter that he had opened a gateway to get to the cabin, hoping that he’d be able to get the kids there for a goodbye too, but there hadn’t been time. 

Maybe it was easier this way. 

Stephen quietly told Peter that they had shared a few parting, loving words before Tony had drifted off, at peace as he went to join his three oldest friends in the stars. Peter could only imagine what had been said between those two, how goodbye might have sounded between two men who were so different and so similar. Their friendship had always been a bit of an anomaly. Maybe it had been less of a goodbye and more of a “until I see you again.”

Peter couldn’t explain the rush of guilt and grief and anger and sorrow and helplessness he had felt upon seeing Tony’s body. Small and still, under the thick comforter of his bed. He could have been sleeping. He didn’t know how long he sat there, saying things that he had said a thousand times when Tony could still hear him. But he told him again how glad he was that he had him in his life, how he had been everything he could have ever wanted in a dad, how much he loved him. He couldn’t remember when the tears had started, but they only got worse when, an hour later, he stepped out of Tony’s bedroom to see Stephen standing in the hall. Tall and stoic, all sharp lines and stern brow, his blood red cloak draping down from his shoulders. Tears travelled down in rivulets in the lines of his face. Peter had fell against his chest, pulling the sorcerer into his arms, sobbing for all he was worth. He held the other man as tightly as he could without hurting him, and he felt Stephen gripping onto him just as desperately, trembling hands bunched into the back of his hoodie. Peter cried until there was nothing left but a dry husk. A dry, empty husk of a man who had lost three dads. A husk of a man holding onto the last dad he would ever lose, arms locked around the sorcerer, once a stranger, but now someone precious. 

A week later, sitting on the couch of his second home with his Aunt May, Peter was still just a dry, empty husk. He supposed it shouldn’t have devastated and shocked him so. Tony had been 89, after all. The man had never taken very good care of himself; Pepper and Rhodey and everyone who had ever loved him could attest to that. After half a lifetime of junk food, booze, and everything else he had put his body through, never mind his self-sacrificing streak, Tony Stark shouldn’t have lived much past fifty. And without the help of his loved ones, he probably wouldn’t have. Without Pepper’s careful eye, Happy’s monitoring, and Rhodey’s protection, some would say Tony wouldn’t have made it into his thirties. Without the sorcerer standing at the kitchen threshold, he wouldn't have been able to survive saving the world. And something told Peter that there may or may not have been some magical influence which saw Tony almost reach his ninetieth birthday. 

Then there was a part of Peter that hoped that his own influence, his mere existence starting out as a teen vigilante in Queens, had been some part of what kept Tony alive for so long. That worming his way into Tony Stark’s heart was part of what made the man realize that there were things worth keeping yourself alive for. People worth keeping yourself alive for.

“I’m gonna go check on Ben and Harley”, he said finally, decisively. May only nodded as she watched him get up from the sofa, looking concerned in a way that made Peter’s skin crawl. He found Morgan and Michelle in the kitchen, talking in hushed tones as they put together a few mugs of tea. Peter ignored them quietly, ignored their gentle looks of concern, and rinsed his plate in the sink, trying hard not to think of all the water fights he and Tony had had here while washing dishes. Flicking the water off his hands, he sidled up beside Stephen, nudging him to get his attention. The sorcerer would never admit it, but his hearing was slowly going. 

“Did the girls convince you to eat something too?”, Peter muttered, ignoring how thin Stephen looked, especially without Levi on, the cloak still occupying Peter’s daughter’s shoulders as she sat hunched over the kitchen table. 

“I don’t eat much these days”, Stephen replied patiently, giving Peter a tired, knowing smile. He knew, as Peter’s remaining father figure, that the boy - no, man - would be inclined to fret over him constantly, though he wasn’t very subtle about it. “You don’t have to worry about me”, he added. 

“I know”, Peter nodded, though they both knew his behaviour wouldn’t change. “Just…try to eat something.”

“Petey-pie giving you a hard time, Doc?”, Morgan asked as she came over, with a fake smile that was too big, trying too hard to be positive. Peter had always admired his sister’s ability to will a situation into whatever she wanted, but today was a stretch. “You bugging him, Petey?”, she asked, turning to her brother without waiting for Stephen’s answer. 

“Nothing I can’t handle, darling”, the sorcerer rumbled, opening his arms wide and drawing Morgan into a hug which completely disarmed her cheery facade. Her body went slack immediately, hiding her face in familiar blue robes as she hugged him back. Morgan had always been so much like her dad, Peter thought, hiding her true feelings around strangers behind a big smile and too much sparkle. Not that there were any strangers here, but Morgan had always found it easier to pretend everything was fine. Talking about her boiling, screaming emotions underneath had never been her strong suit. But if she let herself break completely, Peter knew she wouldn’t even be standing right now. Stephen seemed to sense this and released her from the hug after a minute, not wanting to dismantle her walls completely. She pulled back from the tall sorcerer, subdued, giving him a wary look that told him she knew what he was trying to do.

“I was downstairs with Ri and the boys, if you wanna come down”, she said as she turned to Peter, some of the burning grief flickering through in her dark brown eyes. Tony’s eyes. Peter felt himself choke a little and wondered how long it would take before he could look at Morgan without tearing up. She had always looked so much like Tony, but cropping her hair short in the past year had made the physical resemblance uncanny. Even in the way she walked, the way she held herself, you knew she was Tony Stark’s daughter. 

“Yeah, I’m sure MJ can keep May squared and the Doc out of trouble.” Stephen only responded with an affectionate grumble, trailing off to help Michelle with the dishes. Peter was relieved to see that his daughter had gotten up from the kitchen table to curl up beside her great-aunt on the sofa, laying with her head in the elder May’s lap as she pet her hair. She might have been graduating university this year, but that wouldn’t stop her from seeking comfort from her great-aunt as she had when she was a little girl. Satisfied his family was as comfortable as they were going to be, Peter trailed Morgan down the stairs to the basement, half lounge and workout room, the other half workshop, just as Tony had left it. 

There were still blueprints scattered all over the workbench from when Tony and Morgan had been working on updates for her suit, as Morgan had always preferred to work on paper for first drafts. They had been there three weeks ago, right before Rhodey’s passing, and no one had been able to clean them up yet. The entire room was littered with parts of various family member’s suits, half of Harley’s in fact, endless scraps of metal laying about, overflowing the scrap bin, empty coffee mugs still in that one corner with the big chair where the sun came in the window. That’s where Tony could be found most mornings, sifting through designs and updates on his tablet well into his seventies. Iron Man memorabilia was scattered about the entire room, of course, the only room that had been allowed it. There were posters and artwork on the walls, old helmets mounted on displays, and the Rescue suit standing in its case right alongside Mark 85, the last Iron Man suit Tony had ever built.

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, pushing down memories of countless hours spent in this room with Tony, and walked over to the lounge area where everyone had huddled. Morgan and her wife Riri were sitting together on the massive recliner, Riri nearly holding Morgan on her lap as she stroked her wife’s hair comfortingly. Harley and Ben were cuddled together on the sofa, Peter’s youngest half-lying on his uncle’s chest unabashedly despite turning sixteen last month. They were watching some video on Harley’s phone, the glow from the screen making Ben’s red, puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks even more apparent. Harley had shucked his dress shirt in favour for the t shirt underneath, and had apparently convinced Ben to do the same, obviously trying to provide him nephew with as much comfort as possible. Peter sighed, heart hurting for his son, and dropped onto the sofa beside him.

“What’s up, Benji?”, he asked softly, catching the concerned look Harley threw him. The teen just shook his head, hiding from the world with his cheek shoved against his uncle’s soft band tee. “You don’t have to go to school tomorrow if you don’t want to”, Peter tried, chest constricting with his own grief, wishing there was a way he could call in sick from being Spider Man. “Mom already called your school, okay?

“Okay”, came the raspy reply, voice ruined by tears just like his sister and practically everyone else in the house. Peter reached over to gently run his fingers over dark curls, silently offering comfort that he knew wouldn’t help. Desperately, he looked over to Morgan who was watching him, sitting with Riri in the huge leather recliner. Tony’s chair. Tears came to Peter’s eyes, blurring his sister’s expression, but he knew how she was looking at him regardless. His entire family was worried he was coming apart at the seams and he was doing a worse and worse job trying to convince himself and everyone else that he wasn’t. 

“I, uh - I need some air”, he gasped, standing quickly, too quickly. Black spots danced across his vision and he paused as he waited for them to clear. He really hadn’t been eating enough lately. Peter took the stairs two at a time, something he hadn’t done in years, panting by the time he got to the top, but not with exertion. He could feel the panic attack coming on, ignoring everyone as he whisked through the kitchen and out the front door, screen door banging behind him. The fractured thoughts began as he speed-walked across the front lawn.

How was he supposed to keep it together? How was he supposed to handle being a good husband, a good dad, a successful biochemical engineer, and Spider Man now that Tony was gone? How was he supposed to juggle all that? Sure, he had been a fully independent adult for decades now, but Tony had always been there, in the background of his mind, telling him that it was alright if he fell because he would be there to catch him. An open, hungry sob tore from Peter’s chest as he fell into a jog, the panic creeping in on him like flames licking at his heels. He didn’t pay attention to where he was going, he just ran, arms pumping at his sides as his dress shoes slid on grass and soil and rock. He was vaguely aware of the shoreline of the lake on his right as he stuck to it, wind whistling through the cat tails, telling him to slow down. He broke into a frantic sprint just as he reached the forest.

The black trunks of tall pines provided a dusky maze in the dying light of the setting sun, leaving Peter to dodge their roots, tie flapping over his shoulder, legs stretching out as he ate up ground as fast as panic was eating up his heart. Fire burned in his lungs, dissolving them to smoke as he gasped. Every slap of his feet on the earth was a taunt, a mocking in his ears with each huge stride.

_Tony’s gone. Tony’s gone. Tony’s gone._

He trusted himself to lose himself, closing his eyes, squeezing the tears out so they whisked across his cheeks. His instincts took over, telling him when he needed to veer left to avoid a tree, feeling free for a second before his toe caught on a root and sent him flying. He skidded to a stop on a carpet of pine needles, a tangle of limbs as he kept his head from hitting the ground. He ended up sprawled on his stomach, lungs gasping, shoulders heaving. He let his forehead rest in the soft, black soil he had churned up. 

Ribs aching, he pulled himself up so he was kneeling in the middle of a small clearing, dark pines looming up around him from all sides. All he could hear was his own gasping breath, his heart pounding in his ears. His only thought: Tony doesn’t get to have a heartbeat anymore.

An animal yell ripped through him, sending all of his energy out of his body, out into the dark for the forest to use, and he slumped forward with a ragged sob. He tried to cry some more, but all his tears had been used up. He was still a dry, empty husk of a man. 

Peter looked around himself frantically, searching. He knew he wouldn’t find what he was looking for. Because all he wanted was for Tony to be walking towards him through the trees, coming from the direction of the house, arms raised in question or an invitation for a hug.

_What’s going on, Pete? You didn’t need to come all the way out here. Just talk to me._

“I can’t”, Peter wheezed desperately. “You’re not here, you’re not here.” He pulled his hands through thinning curls which were beginning to grey, letting his hands cup the back of his own head before raising them up to pound the ground in front of him. He laid there, dejected, unmoving, and wondered how long it would take for his body to decompose. 

“You’re not here.”

“Peter”, a voice behind him said, and Peter whipped around so fast his neck cracked, imagining Tony’s voice. 

Instead, there was Stephen, descending slowly with a swath of blood red behind him, floating like a feather in the breeze. Peter watched his boots hit the soil, watched him walk towards Peter with all the tenderness in the world, but he couldn’t react. Stephen seemed to know well enough not to say anything, looking down at Peter not with worry, but with matched grief and Peter was grateful for it. Everyone at the cabin was worrying, worried, worried for him, when they should be thinking about Tony.

“ _Just grieve him, don’t worry about me!”_ , Peter wanted to scream at them.

Stephen seemed to understand. 

He dropped onto his knees beside Peter, cloak all dragging behind him and leaning forward to brush a patch of pine needles away with trembling, scarred hands. He dug his fingers into the soft, black soil and held them there, as if he wished to be absorbed into the earth. Peter watched him with morbid fascination, wondering how long it took for a human to become soil. 

Wordlessly, Stephen stood, more stiffly than he used to, and began to walk off through the charcoal trunks of the pines. Dusk was heavy now and Peter could barely make out the poppy red cloak in the dying light. He got to his feet without remembering how to do that, and followed the sorcerer without remembering how to walk. He caught up with him somehow and followed him, not quite beside him, but trailing behind a little. They could have been walking for ten minutes, they could have been walking for a day, Peter would have never known as he floated along outside of himself. Then suddenly there was more light and they were in a clearing. The sun had set fully and now the sky was black-blue, stretching on forever as it yawned above them like some great monster. The clearing became a hill and then became a very steep hill and Peter found himself trudging up a slope of grass and clover, following the sound the red cloak made as it swished over the foliage.

He almost bumped into the sorcerer when he stopped, turning to look at the taller man as if he had just appeared out of nowhere. Stephen still didn’t speak, simply stood, draped in crimson and grief as he craned his neck slightly to take in the pinprick ebony sheet above them. The blue stretched into black into a million glittering diamonds like the pieces of Peter’s heart crackling and falling into himself. He couldn’t breath suddenly and toyed with his tie, fidgeting with the knot like he had done when he was a teenager and Tony would tease him about it. Annoyed, he ripped it off and over his head, throwing if off to the side in the grass somewhere. Again, he looked up at the never-ending black above them, but he didn’t need to be reminded of how insignificant they were because he’d been up there, he’d been in it. He knew. Stephen had been up there too.

He looked over at the sorcerer. His friend, his protector, his second dad (or fourth depending on how you looked at it). Peter saw tears trickling down his cheeks like stars, but it was like he was looking at a stranger. He wasn’t in his own body, after all. But he focused on where Stephen was looking and was able to pinpoint a star that was shining a little brighter than the rest, a little bluer than the rest. 

“That wasn’t there a week ago”, Stephen said, voice sounding like broken glass. 

Peter looked at the star, studied it, acknowledged it. He knew what the old sorcerer was saying. Tony had been dead for a week. He wanted to scream at the very thought, the very insulting thought that that speck of light could be his dad, but then a warmth trickled into his chest. He looked at the star again and it might have been winking at him, cheeky and teasing despite having one blind eye. It might have been asking him who he thought was going to go pick up his tie, because the star sure as hell wasn’t going to search around in knee high grass for it, Underoos. The star might have been that brush of warm air he just felt on his shoulder, the breeze tousling his curls like gentle, calloused fingers. The star might have been ruffling Stephen’s hair as well, prompting Peter to give him a hug, because as much as he never showed it, sometimes the stubborn wizard needed one. 

Stephen let out a huff of air as the boy - no, man - collided with his chest. He’d expected anger at first, but then felt strong, caring arms wrapped around his back, like that afternoon exactly a week ago, in the hall outside Tony’s bedroom. Peter didn’t have anymore tears left to cry, so he held this man he loved like a dad and buried his face in his robes like he had as a kid. He held onto him like he’d done as a broken teen so many years ago, like Tony would if he were here watching one of his closest friends cry. And he let Stephen cry, because maybe he hadn’t properly yet, rocking slightly in a breeze that wouldn’t stop playing with their hair. Peter inhaled and swore he could smell Tony’s coffee and motor oil smell, but maybe it was tea leaves from the robes he still had his face pressed against like he had as a teenager. Maybe it was the dark, rich soil rubbed into the suit he was still wearing. 

He pulled back, letting go of Stephen, shucking his suit jacket off, unbuttoning his dress shirt. He’d followed Harley’s suit and worn an old band tee underneath. He bunched up the front of the Black Sabbath t shirt in his fist and pressed it to his nose. The faint scent of coffee hit his senses like pure euphoria and he sank down into the grass and the clover beside his remaining dad. 

The air was cold, but he couldn’t wear that suit anymore and Levi wrapping around his shoulders was welcome, the deep red fabric heavy and warm. So, they sat in their silence and their grief, and looked up at the star shining a little brighter and a little bluer than the rest. They looked up at the star that was smaller than the rest, but still seemed to take up more space in the sky, like you couldn’t help but notice it.

Peter was empty now. Just a dry, empty husk of a man.

The warm breeze blew and played with his own greying curls, picking up dandelion puffs so they kissed his cheek, soft and scratchy like stubble. 

_He’s here._

He turned to look at Stephen, breath catching with the warmth he felt around the dryness and the emptiness. He met the sorcerer’s old, galaxy-filled eyes and a mutual agreement passed between them. 

Stephen wasn’t allowed to be a star for a very long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Stephen correcting himself when he thinks of Peter as a boy instead of a man was actually me the entire time writing this fic. I was like, "Nooo, he is not baby anymore."
> 
> Also, yes, Morgan Stark is big lesbian. Fight me.


End file.
